by Peggy Jaeger
Now it was my eyes clouding with moisture.
“He didn’t – couldn’t – understand that. ‘If you truly loved me’ he said, ‘you’d let her go and come make a life with me.’ I told him if he truly loved me he’d understand why I couldn’t leave you and he wouldn’t ask me to.”
“And he didn’t accept that?”
“No. No, he was too stubborn. But then, so was I. Neither one of us was willing to give in, so.” She lifted her hands and shrugged.
“So you stayed. All those years when I was sleeping. And even now.”
“I did.” She leaned in closer and swiped a hand across my cheek. “I wanted to be by your side when you woke because I never doubted you would. Not once.”
“It’s true. She didn’t.”
We both turned to find my mother standing in the doorway, her hands folded in front of her, wrapped around her purse strap.
“Not once, in all those years, did she ever give up hope you would come back to us.” She moved into the kitchen, came to stand between us.
When she placed a hand on Maeve’s shoulder, Maeve reached up and laid her own over it.
“It was never a doubt,” she said, simply.
Mom squeezed her shoulder then bent down and kissed my cheek. The Shalimar she’d dabbed on before leaving the house drifted over me in a wisp of familiarity.
“What’s got the two of you talking about this?” she asked as she went to put the kettle on.
“Romance,” I swiped at my wet eyes.
Her eyes squinted at me. “There’s a topic we don’t hear in this house everyday.”
“It’s Maeve’s fault because I found her reading one of her cherished romance books when I came in. I wanted to know why she never found her own happily ever after and she told me she almost had, once.”
My mother’s head whipped around so fast I got second-hand dizziness from watching it.
“You did?” she asked Maeve.
“You mean you didn’t know?” I was stunned. “How is it possible you two lived in the same house and you didn’t know Maeve was…involved with someone?”
“You told her about—”
“I explained we both wanted different things, is all,” Maeve said, interrupting my mother. Something passed between them as they stared across the room at one another. I couldn’t interpret what the silent communication was, but Maeve shook her head ever so slightly and my mother’s shoulders, for some strange reason, relaxed.
To me, Maeve said, “It was a long time ago, Aurora. Best forgotten. We’ve all gone on with our lives and lived with the decisions we’ve made.” She placed a bookmark into the paperback and closed it.
My gaze went from her face to my mother’s.
“You two are keeping something from me, I can feel it. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” my mother said. “Are you tired from your walk home? Do you think you should lie down for a bit?”
“I’m fine. And you’re changing the subject. What I can’t figure out is why. Why don’t you want to talk about the man Maeve was dating?
“Like Maeve said, dear. It was a long time ago.”
“If that’s true then why the secrecy? It’s all over and done with, right?” I turned to Maeve.
She sighed and nodded. Glancing up at my mother, she cocked her head to one side, her eyes widening, as if she were asking a question.
My mother shrugged. “It’s your story to tell, Maeve.”
“Okay, that is so increasing my interest,” I said. “Tell me who he was. Was it someone we knew? Who worked for mom and dad, maybe? Oh, my God, it wasn’t Murphy was it? No, wait. It can’t be.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because he still works for mom and you said the guy you dated went on his merry way when you wouldn’t give up taking care of me.”
Once again, a subtle nod came my way.
“You said you met him when I was in the hospital,” I said.
“Yes.”
“And? Come on, Maeve. It’s like pulling teeth. Tell me about him.” I reached across the table and pulled both her hands in mine. “Who was he?”
“If you must know—”
“I must.”
She rolled her eyes. “He was the detective in charge of the case.”
“What case?”
“Your case, Aurora. It was his job to find out who put those drugs in your drink.”
On a perfect day, one where I didn’t have a physical therapy session or a psychiatric counseling appointment, or anything I needed to attend to that reminded me of my lost decade, I was able to just …be. Just absorb the day, relax, and let my mind go free.
I never thought much about what had caused me to slip into the coma.
At one point after I’d woken, the shrink my mother paid a fortune to in order to acclimate me back into the world and deal with all the changes in my life, had told me what had happened. An almost lethal mixture of drugs had been slipped into my champagne. Because of some weird internal reaction, they caused my coma instead of jest rendering me incapacitated and memory-less for a few hours.
I don’t think I ever considered up until right now, though, there was an actual police investigation into the event. I said as much.
My mother nodded. “A full investigation,” she said. “Your father made sure of it, calling in many favors from people he knew in local government. Pressure was put on the police to find out who had spiked your drink.”
“But they never did,” Maeve said, “despite working on it night and day.”
“So this detective?”
“Nicholas Ramon.”
“He was the one leading the investigation?”
“Yes. He came to the hospital once you were admitted.” Maeve rose and pulled her cup from the sink drain. “After the toxicology report came back he worked tirelessly to figure out who was responsible for drugging you.”
“And along the way you two, what? Connected? Hooked up?”
“I despise that phrase.” The heavy-handed way she stirred her tea proved it. “He came to the hospital every day to check on you. We spent hours, so many hours, discussing you, your friends, trying to come up with a name or a reason.”
“There were times I thought he wanted to know who’d done it more than we did,” my mother said.
“Spending all that time together we, well, we talked about our own lives, too. We became very…close.”
“You’re blushing again,” I said, quietly charmed at the pink tinge covering her cheeks.
Her teacup slammed into the saucer just the way my mother’s had.
“Don’t tease her, dear,” my mother said.
“I’m not. I actually think it’s fabulous you found someone. And I feel awfully guilty it didn’t work out because of me.”
“Not because of you, Aurora. You are in no way responsible for what happened. Nick and I were from two different worlds and in the end we wanted different things. I didn’t think it right that he asked me to choose.”
“Did you love him very much?”
The heavy sigh she blew before lifting her cup again was telling. “It wasn’t meant to be, that’s all. Now, this has been enough of a trip down memory lane for one day.”
I had so many questions I wanted to ask – needed to ask. But I knew Maeve. Once she said a subject was closed, it was. Tight. But I had a name for her mystery man, and more questions than I knew she would answer.
While walking home I’d debated whether or not to tell them I’d seen Phil. Since they never spoke of her and had deflected my asking about her so many times, I wondered what telling them would accomplish.
When my mother asked if I’d enjoyed my walk home, I relented and told them both about the odd meeting.
“She looks tired and painfully thin. Way older than thirty-five.”
My mother’s eyebrows rose but she said nothing. Maeve, true to form, said, “I never liked that girl.”
I rolle
d my eyes. “She told me she married Trey Bookman a few months after…my birthday party. I thought that was kinda fast.”
“Her mother did as well,” my mom said, nodding. “A City Hall ceremony and no party afterward. Mary was robbed of giving her daughter a lovely wedding.” With an elegant shrug, she asked, “They’re still together?”
“She’s wearing a ring, so I assume so.”
When neither of them wanted to know anything else, I dropped it.
Later that night while I was in bed, reading, my phone pinged. I was too tired to answer it, so I let it go to voicemail. Cade Enright’s sexy voice drifted over me when I listened to the message.
“Just want to give you the times for Friday. The ballet starts at eight. I thought a quick dinner at The Smith at six would work. Then, we can just walk across the street to Lincoln Center. I’ve made a reservation. I can pick you up, just let me know what time. Give me a call when you can.” There was a brief pause then, “I enjoyed our lunch together and I’m looking forward to dinner.”
After plugging my phone in to charge I snuggled down in my bed and ran through my appointments for the following day, adding a name I hadn’t known until a few hours ago.
Nicholas Ramon.
If my mother and Maeve weren’t willing to answer my questions, wanting to leave the past in the past, I wondered if the detective would be as reluctant.
There was only one way to find out.
Chapter Six
One of the disadvantages of sleeping through the tech and social media revolution was that I was way behind the learning curve when compared with people my age. Attempting a deep dive on the Internet to locate Detective Ramon was a time consuming job, and for me, not an easy one.
He wasn’t listed in any phone directory I could find, nor could I simply call the local precinct and ask for him. HIPPA laws protected medical privacy and I imagined something similar applied to the privacy of police officers so people with an ax to grind couldn’t find out where they lived.
I tried a different tactic and for the first time since I woke up, did what I swore I would never do and Googled my name. Thousands of links burst across my screen, so I narrowed the scope and added the words coma and police investigation.
This time I only had a few hundred items to go over.
There were cited articles in all the New York papers for the week following the birthday party about what had happened, attached to headlines like Russet Rory O.D.s at lavish birthday bash, and Pill Popping Party Princess with a very unflattering picture of me, drunk, on the screen. I know the picture wasn’t taken the date of my birthday because the dress I was wearing was from when I turned eighteen. I scrolled through a few more links that reported my admission to the hospital and then the story died down. My name was mentioned once again when my father died, then nothing more.
Remembering my meeting with Phil, I typed in both hers and Trey’s names and came up with a mention of their wedding. I found two pictures taken the day they’d said I do. In both, Phillipa’s unsmiling face looked gaunt and exhausted. Even in black and white I could tell her skin resembled the color of Elmer’s glue. She’d had a haunted, look about her, too. I found nothing else after their announcement.
The problem with Internet searches is they lead you down numerous rabbit holes that have nothing to do with the information you’re trying to unearth
I was getting frustrated when I remembered what my mother had told me about my father calling in favors to make my investigation a priority. One of those favors was married to my godmother, Elinda, one of my mother’s childhood friends. Her husband was the former Police Commissioner.
After ten minutes of social catching up, I broached the real intention of my call.
“Aunt Linda, I was wondering if Uncle Pete is home. I want to ask him a question and I need his expertise.”
“Of course, darling. He’s in his man cave doing who knows what. Give me a moment.”
I knew Elinda’s definition of a man cave was nothing more than her husband’s study.
“Aurora, it’s great to hear your voice,” he said a few minutes later. “How are you?”
“Better every day. Listen, Uncle Pete, I need a favor.”
“What’s up?”
“I’m trying to locate the detective who was in charge of my police investigation.”
“Nick Ramon? Why?”
Honesty is always best, so I told him the truth. The fact he’s always had a pretty good bull-shit-ometer was a factor in that, too.
“I’ve got a few questions and mom and Maeve are reluctant to talk about that time. It’s still upsetting for them.”
“I can’t say I blame them. It was upsetting for all of us, especially when it was touch and go there for a while.”
“I understand that, I really do. And I don’t want to worry them or make them anxious. So, would you be able to lead me in the detective’s direction? Give me his phone number, or an address?”
Silence came back to me and for a moment I wondered if he would help.
“It’s been some years, Aurora. Ramon’s retired now. He might not even be in the city any more.”
“I understand but I really do want to talk to him.”
“Okay. Give me a bit and let me see if I can get a bead on him. I’ll text you with any info.”
I thanked him then hung up. While Murphy was driving me to The Till for my daily dose of torture, Uncle Pete came through.
Ramon lives in midtown. Here’s the address. Don’t have a cell number for him.
I texted back a thank you.
After Sam put me through my paces, I informed Murphy of where I wanted to go next.
“Traffic’s gonna be thick and slow this time of day, Miss Aurora. Hope you’re not in a hurry.”
“I don’t have an appointment, so no worries.”
It took almost an hour to get to Ramon’s address. Located on a cross street between thirty-ninth and fortieth streets his apartment was in a block of World War II era walk-ups. Flat, dull red brick face fronts with rusted fire escapes started at the second floor and ascended, the buildings stood tall and solid on a tree-less sidewalk.
“This is where you wanted to go, Miss?” Murphy face dissolved into a mass of wrinkled confusion as he turned from the front seat to gape at me. He didn’t need to double park because a parking spot had opened up right outside the building just as we were crossing the avenue.
I nodded and tossed my phone into my bag. Murphy, ever dutiful, was out of the car and opening my door before I could blink. Extending his hand to help me out, he glanced back at the building then up and down the block.
“Excuse me Miss, for asking, but who is it that you’re seeing?”
“If I tell you, you have to promise not to mention it to my mother or Maeve.”
His eyes widened. “Now, Miss—”
“Promise me, Murphy. This stays between us until I decide to tell them.”
He swallowed. Hard. Then gave me a spastic head bob, once.
His eyes went even wider when I told him who I was hoping to talk to. Murphy had been our driver before Maeve came to us so he recognized the name in an instant.
“Miss Aurora, are you, I mean, are you sure about this?”
“I am. Now I’m relying on you to keep your word.”
“Want me to go in with you?” he asked.
“No. I’ll be fine. Stay here, though, because I don’t know how long I’ll be. It may be a few minutes, or longer. He may not even be home.”
“Are you sure? Your mother would have my hide if I let something happen to you.”
“I think she’d have both our hides, but don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
In all honesty, he didn’t look convinced as his gaze tracked me while I walked up the steps to the building. Each floor must have only had one tenant because there were five names listed. RAMON was written across the second from the top slot with the number four next to it.
I took a breath, then pre
ssed the buzzer.
“Yeah?” a voice filled with gravel asked through the speaker.
“Nicholas Ramon?”
“Who’s asking?”
“My name is Aurora Brightwell, Det. Ramon, and I’d like a few minutes of your time if you’re free.”
Silence. Then, “What name did you say?”
I moved closer to the speaker and spoke directly into it. The buzzer sounded to allow me entry and while I held the door open, I turned to Murphy and gave him a thumb’s up.
The entryway was, surprisingly, lined with marble floors. A stone staircase rose on one side of the long railroad track hallway, no elevator in sight. It looked like my FitBit was going to be happy today, first with a five mile run at the rehab center, and now a trek up four flights of stairs.
When I got to the fourth level a small landing led me to the floor’s only occupant.
Nicholas Ramon stood, waiting for me, in the opened doorway. Maeve’s description floated back to me while my eyes took him in.
Tall, dark, and handsome fit quite nicely. He was probably in his late fifties, early sixties at the most, but he held himself in such a way that he appeared a decade younger. A full head of thick, wavy, salt-and-pepper threaded hair covered him, his face sporting a three-day stubble in the same color. Broad shoulders and a thin torso were covered by a short sleeve t-shirt ending at a trim waist. Jeans that had been worn with love draped down his long legs and his feet were bare.
Based on physical attributes alone, I could understand why Maeve had been smitten.
Nicholas Roman was hot.
Old-world black and white movie star hot.
And just as I assessed him for the few seconds I stood on the top riser, he was assessing me, as well.
“Detective Roman,” I said, taking the last step and extending my hand to him and smiling. “Thank you so much for seeing me.”
His hand rose from his side in a slow and steady move to take mine, all the while his gaze glued to my face. I would never want to play poker with him because not an ounce of expression crossed his features while he scrutinized me. When I slipped my hand into his, he shook it, strong and professional, and continued his thorough perusal.
